


your favorite darkness

by Tedda



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedda/pseuds/Tedda
Summary: "Did you put me in a Hawks sweater?" he asks, letting Jonny pull his arms back down, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth."I miss seeing you like this." Jonny's lips brush along his neck as he talks, his arms sliding back around Patrick's waist, slipping under the jersey and onto his bare stomach, fingers splayed wide. "I miss playing with you and watching you on the ice."
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 18
Kudos: 139





	your favorite darkness

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from Depeche Mode's In your room
> 
> thanks to Kira for being a great beta!

"Spread your legs," Jonny says in that deep, bossy voice that leaves no room for protest. Patrick would know. He's tried pushing back often enough, and it always backfired in the most spectacular ways. So he learned to keep his mouth shut. Mostly. Sometimes he can't help himself. Jonny would disagree maybe, would huff and call him pushy and bratty, but he would say it with his most gentle smile and bright eyes. He loves it when Patrick gives him a reason to be rough. Not that Jonny could ever _truly_ be rough—not in an unpleasant way anyways—when he's touching Patrick. He's so ridiculously gentle sometimes that Patrick wants to laugh and remind him that he gets banged into the boards for a living, that he can take a lot, but the words always get stuck in his throat when Jonny touches him like that. Worships his body with such an appreciation for everything Patrick's willing to take for him.

So Jonny using his dom voice makes Patrick move instinctively—he's conditioned to follow that voice, no matter what—shuffling his feet apart, his forehead falling to the wall in front of him where he's bracing himself on his elbows

Jonny had told him to strip already, so he's naked in the hallway, and the air is pleasantly warm—definitely not a coincidence, he saw Jonny turn up the heating earlier—and that alone is enough to make Patrick shiver. It's almost too much, knowing that Jonny planned this as they were going through their usual quarantine morning routine. It adds to the thrill of it to know that Jonny was thinking about him, about all the things he's gonna do to Patrick while Patrick was oblivious to his thoughts, and fills him with warmth to know that Jonny was taking care of every small detail, making sure Patrick's comfortable without letting him in on his plans.

Jonny slides his hand down along Patrick's spine, and he shivers again under the soft touch, letting out a deep breath.

"Jonny—"

Jonny places a kiss between his shoulder blades, humming into his skin. His hand reaches the curve where Patrick's back meets his ass, and Jonny slows down, his fingers ghosting over the crack of Patrick's ass, a feather-light touch that Patrick barely feels while it echoes through his entire body simultaneously.

"Jonny—" It's barely a whimper. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other as Jonny slides his palm back up to his neck with gentle pressure.

"Easy, Pat." His voice is softer now and Patrick gets another kiss, a small peck to the curve of his neck. "Doing okay?"

"Yeah," he breathes, fighting the desire to push back into the touch, to turn and move into Jonny's arms.

Not yet, he reminds himself. The urge is always there to be as close as possible, to feel Jonny's big arms wrap themselves around Patrick's waist like a security blanket. Everything else always seems far away when he's in Jonny's arms, but it's so much sweeter when Jonny makes him work for it first. When his hugs and kisses become a reward, something Patrick has to wait and long for. It's so much better when he has _earned_ the right to be in Jonny's arms.

"You're doing good," Jonny says. "You are so pretty, Patrick. I love looking at you so much."

 _God_ , Patrick is a sucker for attention—always has been, especially when he's the sole focus of Jonny's attention. And Jonny _knows_ , he knows Patrick better than Patrick knows himself, and he knows all too well what he has to say and do to make Patrick's dick even harder.

"Do you know what would look even prettier?" Jonny adds. He steps behind Patrick, his fully-clothed body pressed against Patrick's sensitive skin. Instead of changing into his favorite pair of sweatpants after coming back from the gym, Jonny opted for jeans, and Patrick's realizing why when the rough fabric teases his skin. It doesn't hurt, _yet_ , but it's uncomfortable enough to make Patrick groan.

"Peeks," Jonny adds, a hint of sharpness to his voice when it takes Patrick too long to respond. "You hear me?"

The tone always works to make Patrick pull himself together. It's easy to fall apart under Jonny's hands, and he tends to lose track of time and space when he's aroused. Jonny loves messing with him, loves to make him think and work for his rewards before allowing Patrick to completely fall apart, letting Jonny catch him.

"Yeah," he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut.

He earns an appreciative, soothing hum. "Tell me, Pat—what can I do to make you look even prettier?"

Jonny's usually as unpredictable as creative, and he's playing a game with Patrick, creating the illusion that Patrick has a say in this before reminding him that only Jonny is calling the shots. Patrick can fantasize all he wants—in the end, he's only allowed to take what Jonny's willing to offer.

Patrick inhales again, forcing himself to focus on the question he's been asked, to forget about his throbbing dick long enough to string a few words into a coherent sentence.

Nipple clamps are one of Jonny's favorites. He loves tugging on them while watching Patrick's face go through various stages of pain, and he loves how swollen and sensitive they leave Patrick's nipples. But nipples clamps can't be it, not when Jonny can barely see them with how he has positioned Patrick, facing the wall.

"Maybe a plug in my hole," Patrick guesses.

Maybe even a dildo, sometimes Jonny will shove one into him to see how long Patrick's able to keep it inside—not very long usually, but the faster he gets the dildo out, the sooner he'll have Jonny's cock inside of him and that's so much better anyway.

Jonny slides both hands along the sides of Patrick's body and bends forward, jeans scratching over Patrick's ass, a stark contrast to the very gentle kiss Jonny places on Patrick's neck, followed by a deep hum that vibrates through Patrick's spine.

"Good guess. Gimme another."

"Uh—" His balls feel heavy between his legs, and Jonny's breathing into his skin, his mouth is right there, and he could kiss or bite—

Patrick inhales. "Ropes around my body."

"I do love seeing that," Jonny agrees.

They don't do rope bondage often, only let themselves experiment sometimes during the summer. It takes a toll on Patrick's body and makes his limbs ache for the next few days, and they can't risk that, not with all the bruises he gets on the ice already that Jonny sometimes presses his fingers into while he's fucking Patrick. But Patrick loves ropes on his body and how secure and calm they make him feel, something inside of him settling whenever Jonny ties him up, and he loves how they make Jonny look at him, an intense focus in his eyes as he ties the knots. Jonny likes black ropes because the dark shows up beautifully on Patrick's pale skin. They're not playing any hockey right now, he could wrap some around Patrick's upper body now, a simple box tie or maybe he's going to tie his hands behind his back—

"Another time," Jonny says softly. "Close your eyes for me, Peeks."

 _Oh_. He should hold Jonny to that promise. They have nothing to do but stay in shape for a season that might get canceled. Neither of them does well with no task at their hand, so they might as well make use of their time. Patrick means to remind Jonny and make him promise, but Jonny takes a step back, and Patrick's too busy whining at the loss of Jonny's hands on his body.

"I'll be right back," Jonny says. He already seems so far away when he's not touching Patrick. "Got your eyes closed?"

"Yes."

"Good," Jonny mutters, and the praise is enough to make Patrick smile, a deep content feeling settling inside his chest that stays there even as the soft sounds of Jonny's socked feet on the carpet get quieter and quieter.

He's tempted to peek, but it feels like cheating and Jonny usually knows when Patrick's not playing by the rules—that Jonny dictates _always_ —by taking one short look at him. Patrick's an open book for him, and Jonny knows him too well to let him get away with cheating. Patrick exhales and curls his hands into fists before he can do something stupid like touch himself. Jonny didn't say he couldn't, but he's learned that not forbidding something doesn't mean Jonny's allowing it.

It's easy to tell that Jonny's walking into their bedroom by the turn his footsteps make, but Patrick's can't hear any shuffling from the room over his own thrumming heartbeat and the noise of the fridge from the kitchen, mixing in with the ticking of the clock that Jonny's mom got them years ago.

His dick is aching, begging for attention, and Patrick takes a few deep breaths while Jonny's gone. The way he's standing with his back arched and his legs spread will offer a great view on his ass when Jonny gets back. If only he was allowed to see Jonny's face. Patrick's been good, so Jonny would look at him with that fond smile of his that never fails to make Patrick's stomach flip. His thighs will start to ache soon, and Jonny will love to see that, the tremor in his legs while Patrick's struggling to obey.

Jonny lets out a deep hum when he gets back, and he's quiet for a second, no doubt taking in the view. Patrick shivers and arches his back a little further to push his ass into the air.

"Gorgeous," Jonny says, stroking one hand along Patrick's spine, the touch warm and soothing. "You haven't moved an inch, eh?"

"You didn't say I could."

"No," Jonny agrees, the smile audible in his voice, the praise hanging unspoken in the air between them.

Patrick gets a real kiss now, Jonny's fingers sliding into his hair to gently tug his head back until he can press his lips to Patrick's, the kiss short but deep, enough to make Patrick whine when Jonny pulls back and releases his hair. There is no way of telling what Jonny grabbed from their bedroom as long as Patrick's not allowed to open his eyes. They keep one giant chest in the back of their closet, filled to the brim with toys and accessories, and Jonny had a million options to pick from. Patrick can't tell what he sets down on the dresser next to him, but his breath hitches in anticipation anyways. Whatever Jonny's got planned for him—it will be good. Jonny always makes it so, so good.

He slides something over Patrick's head—a blindfold—and adjusts Patrick's curls underneath the soft, leathery material. The world around him gets even darker, the blindfold pushing him deeper into a world in which nothing but Jonny exists.

"Better?" he asks, tucking a curl behind Patrick's ear.

Patrick likes the blindfold during intense scenes. It gets him into the mood and allows him to concentrate on the touch and the stimulation Jonny offers and makes everything so much more intense. He likes the loss of control that comes with it, the deep certainty that he's one step closer to being completely at Jonny's mercy.

"Yes," he answers, surprised to find his voice still steady.

"You can stand up, Peeks."

Jonny puts both hands on Patrick's hips to steady him, and Patrick leans back into Jonny's body by instinct. Jonny must have undressed in the bedroom, the direct contact with his skin makes Patrick shiver while Jonny's arms slide around his waist, pulling him in, his lips pressing a kiss to the shell of Patrick's ear when Patrick tips his head back and lets it fall back against Jonny's shoulder.

"Arms up," Jonny whispers into his ear, and Patrick obeys, lifting them above his head, the fingers of one hand curling around the wrist of the other to have something to hold onto. His muscles are tense, his entire body thrumming with anticipation of what's to come, while Jonny strokes his palms along his abs and ribcage, his lips moving from Patrick's ear down his neck, a smile making its way to his lips when Patrick shivers and squirms.

Jonny takes a step back and grabs something from the drawer, and then he slides something over Patrick's arms and head. It's a hockey jersey—Patrick would be able to identify one, well, literally with his eyes closed. The material is so distinct, textured but soft, loosely falling around the curves of his body, the logo on his chest stiff.

_Something that will make him look even prettier._

"Did you put me in a Hawks sweater?" he asks, letting Jonny pull his arms back down, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"I miss seeing you like this." Jonny's lips brush along his neck as he talks, his arms sliding back around Patrick's waist, slipping under the jersey and onto his bare stomach, fingers splayed wide. "I miss playing with you and watching you on the ice."

Patrick's breath hitches when Jonny's hand travels south to the hem of the jersey. It's oversized the way hockey jerseys tend to be, the sleeves long enough to reach his fingers, the jersey big enough that the fabric keeps sliding over Patrick's hard dick. And Jonny tugs on it to pull the thick material to the side, exposing the entire length of Patrick's cock. Patrick can't see but he knows Jonny's looking, and that alone is enough to make his dick twitch. Even with the blindfold, Patrick can _feel_ the intensity of Jonny's piercing gaze on him. Jonny's palm is right there on his hipbone. If only he moved it, just an inch or two and he would—

"Right arm around my neck," Jonny says, pulling his hands away.

The sudden loss of his touch lets Patrick whimper, but as soon as he's got his arm around Jonny's shoulders, Jonny pulls him back to his chest with one arm while he hooks the other underneath Patrick's knees to pick him up bridal style. It's abrupt and without a warning, and Patrick's heart jumps while he leans into Jonny's body, bringing his second arm up around his neck, too.

"You're so light, Peeksy," Jonny teases, the fondness in his voice impossible to miss.

It's a lie and they both know it. Patrick might be small—for a hockey player, his height is very normal for an average American, _Jonathan_ —but he's still a hockey player with broad shoulders and thick arms and thighs. And maybe that's exactly why he loves this so much, how easily Jonny manhandles him as if he _owns_ Patrick, the way he'll play with their height difference and remind Patrick how much he loves being shorter than Jonny.

He carries Patrick into the living room effortlessly and sits down, Patrick's legs across his lap, the armrest of the couch behind Patrick's back so he can lean against it even though Jonny's arm is still tightly wrapped around his waist.

"You have no idea how much I love seeing you in that jersey," Jonny adds, voice dark. He smooths his free hand over the logo on Patrick's chest, and the motion is enough to make the thick fabric move, rubbing over Patrick's nipples with gentle pressure.

"Why?" he chokes out, his eyes falling shut behind the blindfold. Jonny's still dressed in his boxers, but Patrick can feel the bulge in them against his thigh, his own dick on display for Jonny, the jersey not doing anything to hide it. Jonny hasn't even gone near it, and Patrick knows he won't for a while. He'll keep teasing him and Patrick will hate and love it at the same time.

"It means you're one of my guys," Jonny says.

It's simple like that.

Patrick smiles, moving his fingers through the hair at the nape of Jonny's neck, leaning back so Jonny can see the logo better, earning an appreciative hum.

" _One_ of your guys, eh?"

He tries to pout, but Jonny just chuckles at his attempt. His hand slides from the logo to Patrick's nipple, one finger rubbing over it and Patrick lets out a deep groan. The fabric isn't rough but it's thick and textured, and Patrick's nipples are so sensitive already, stiffening under the touch.

"You're the most special guy," Jonny teases, digging his thumbnail into the jersey, hard enough to hurt in the best way. Patrick's fingers tighten around his neck, and he can hear the grin in Jonny's voice, the satisfaction of getting a reaction, when he asks, "you like that?"

Patrick's cock throbs at the question. There must be a bud of precome around the tip of it and that should be answer enough for Jonny, but he insists on hearing it, on making Patrick say it out loud.

"Feels good," he says, head falling to the side and against Jonny's shoulder. His nose brushes along Jonny's cheek, the slight stubble Jonny's been growing rough on his skin, and he can't help but lean into it, chasing the warmth of Jonny's body, tightening his arms around his neck. Jonny is still massaging his nipple and it's not enough with the barrier between his finger and Patrick's skin, but the material of the jersey feels so good at the same time, a little rough but not uncomfortable, just the way Patrick loves it. He's _so_ hard, and he doesn't even know if Jonny's even looking at his dick at all or if he's too busy staring at the jersey, the visual reminder that Patrick is his.

"Can I get a kiss?" he whispers.

Jonny has been gentle so far, he has been in a good mood all day, and he likes it when Patrick asks nicely. He might pretend that he's rough most of the time, but what he loves more than teasing Patrick is giving Patrick what he wants. In the end, he'll always wrap Patrick up in his arms and kiss him until Patrick's only a soft puddle of emotions.

"Of course, Peeks," Jonny says softly. "Come here."

He doesn't reach for Patrick's head or chin, just keeps running his thumb over Patrick's nipple, and Patrick is forced to lift his head and find Jonny's lips with his eyes blindfolded. He presses his nose to Jonny's cheek, the scent of Jonny's aftershave overwhelmingly strong, rubs his nose along his stubble while he kisses his way to the corner of Jonny's mouth, feels the smile on Jonny's face and can't help but grin back. When his lips open up under Jonny's, he earns a gentle hum and a soft bite into his lower lip before Jonny takes control of the kiss.

Jonny's fingers pull away from his nipple but only to slide underneath the jersey and the hem brushes over Patrick's cock again, making him whimper into the kiss. The noise turns into a desperate groan when Jonny's fingers tug on his nipple and roll the flesh between his fingers, always on the verge of being too much, the pleasure almost turning into pain. Patrick's helpless in his arms, fingers buried in Jonny's short brown hair to keep himself from touching his aching cock that twitches every time Jonny increases the pressure of his fingers. He's kissing Patrick like he's pouring his love into him, always so raw and open. When he pulls back, Patrick's lips are numb, the jersey must be messy with precome and he feels dizzy from it, the blindfold a comforting weight around his head.

Jonny, of course, doesn't give him time to recover. He gets back up with Patrick in his arms, walking back into the hallway. But he doesn't stop there, he must carry Patrick into their bedroom and gently sets him down, the plush carpet soft underneath Patrick's naked feet.

"On your knees, Peeksy," Jonny says in a much huskier voice. "Legs spread, I wanna look at you."

Patrick likes kneeling for him even if it tests his patience, but it usually means he'll have Jonny's full attention on him, especially right now, only the jersey covering his body, his hard cock exposed for Jonny. Maybe Jonny will play with his hair, scratch over the scalp, and card his fingers through the curls just like Patrick likes it. Maybe he'll mutter praise at Patrick, maybe keep his fingers curled around Patrick's neck, will allow him to nuzzle his face into his thick thigh, maybe he'll push his cock into Patrick's mouth and keep it there for a while, forcing Patrick to sit still, or maybe—

"Pat—" Jonny's voice cuts through the fog in his brain, gentle but sharp.

 _Fuck_.

Patrick flinches, but Jonny is already kissing his lips, and Patrick inhales before he folds to his knees. The fabric of his jersey drags over his cock, and he bites his lip while he crosses his wrists behind his back, all the tension leaving his body with a deep exhale. There is something about his position that flicks a switch inside of him, that makes something settle deep inside his own body. He doesn't voluntarily give up control, and it's no different with Jonny. He will talk back, and he will make Jonny work for it but once he's reached a certain point, he'll always let Jonny take over. Being on his knees is the last signal that he's giving himself over to Jonny.

"Knees a little further apart—that's it," Jonny says softly while Patrick's shuffling around on the carpet before settling down, his ass resting on the heels of his feet. "Is it warm enough in here?"

"Yeah."

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, Jonny."

"Water's on the nightstand," Jonny says. "Let me know if you need a few sips."

Patrick nods, letting out another deep breath, and concentrates on what he can hear. The squeaking mattress as Jonny sits down—Patrick must be positioned right next to the nightstand—and the shuffling of the blanket while Jonny gets settled. Papery sounds are filling the room, Jonny must have grabbed the book he started reading yesterday, something about performance optimization. It's so painfully Jonny. Only he would put Patrick in a Hawks jersey and on his knees after kissing him stupid, and casually read a book about improving his hockey and lifestyle in the middle of it.

"You're smiling," Jonny says. Always so fond.

Patrick smiles wider. "You're watching me instead of focusing."

He gets a soft chuckle that washes him over, wraps itself like a second blindfold all around his body.

"Maybe. Maybe I am focusing on you though." Jonny's hand lands on his neck, pushing his head down an inch. "Head on the mattress, Pat."

The carpet is soft under Patrick's knees, plush enough that it's comfortable to kneel on, the bed the perfect height to rest his cheek on. Eventually, his knees will start to ache, but Patrick knows from experience that he can stay like this for quite a while. He wants to, for Jonny, wants to look pretty and be patient for him. If he stays calm enough, Jonny will let him come and after waiting for so long, it's going to be worth it, it's going to be so good.

Jonny starts reading for real now, his breath steady and soothing, so impossibly calm when Patrick knows for a fact that he's just as turned on as Patrick, his skin prickling with desire. Every inhale moves the jersey enough to tease his oversensitive nipples, like a ghost of Jonny's touch. He's surrounded by darkness, the steady floor underneath him the only anchor to the world. Jonny's fingers are playing with his hair, absent scratches and idle touches to his temple and neck, tugging on his curls, twisting them around his fingers, smoothing them back. His hand only moves away to flip a page, and Patrick keeps count in his head. Jonny's hand disappears five times which means he's read ten pages and—how long will one page take him? A minute maybe? Jonny is a fast reader, but he approaches books like everything else—with a passionate thoroughness.

After a while, Patrick gives up counting, accepting that he's not in control at all anymore, and he's peacefully settled inside his own body, even his arousal only an afterthought.

Patrick flinches when Jonny closes the book, a soft noise, seemingly louder in the quiet room, yanking him out of his blissful state. Jonny's thumb strokes along his chin in apology.

"Still hard?" Jonny asks, a smile in his voice.

He can _see,_ even without craning his neck he must be able to see it so clearly, and Patrick's cheeks heat up even though he's lost all shame around Jonny years ago. There's nothing Jonny hasn't seen, hasn't liked, and Patrick isn't ashamed, but it's his body betraying him, telling Jonny how much he hates and enjoys being teased. How easy he's always been for Jonny.

"Yes," he whispers. "So fucking hard."

"I know," Jonny says, voice sweet. "I can see."

Patrick spreads his legs further without meaning to move—Jonny hasn't said he could—but when Jonny speaks again, his voice is a lot darker than before.

"Fuck, that's hot. Get up and spread your legs again. Hands on the mattress."

Patrick must have knelt for longer than he realized. When he gets up and the blood rushes back into his knees, he's feeling the strain of the last minutes, an aching feeling that he doesn't allow himself to dwell on.

Leaning forward, he finds the mattress easily with his hands. It dips beneath his weight at the same time Jonny rolls off the bed to step behind him, tugging on the hem of the jersey to expose Patrick's ass. That alone, only the tips of his fingers brushing along Patrick's naked skin, makes him whimper.

Jonny's rummaging around in the nightstand—there's only one thing he can be looking for and Patrick braces himself for Jonny's wet, lubed-up fingers pressing against his hole. Jonny fingered and fucked him in the morning—only a few hours ago—he's not going to need a lot of prep, but Jonny's fingers still feel big inside of him. And then they nudge against his prostate and Patrick's knees buckle, a throaty groan leaves his lips, and everything inside of him lights up, skin tingling, a pleasant sensation running from his scalp through his body, all the way down to his toes. His dick is throbbing, aching and begging, and his arousal comes crashing back in on him with such force that little stars are clouding his vision.

He has to—Patrick's hand flies to his cock, squeezes the base of it, wills it to be patient while Jonny presses his fingers against his prostate, and he whimpers, squeezing harder until it hurts almost and—

"Don't touch yourself," Jonny grits out. His breath is heavier now and Patrick just needs—

A whine escapes his lips when he drops his hand, bracing himself back on the bed, hole clenching greedily around Jonny's fingers.

"Please," he says, panting. "Please, Jonny—"

"Yes, Pat?"

"Please—"

"Please _what_?" Jonny leans forward, kissing his ear, his breath hot. He must have gotten rid of his boxers at some point, the tip of his cock is already nudging against Patrick's rim. "Tell me."

"Fuck me—please, fuck me."

He forces the words out, is panting already, and suddenly, Jonny's arms are around his waist, lifting him up onto the bed, and Patrick instinctively pulls his legs to his body.

It happens so damn fast. One moment he's kneeling on the bed and the next Jonny's fucking into him, hard and rough, almost sending him flying across the bed. Patrick has to catch himself with his arms again before he falls face-first into the mattress.

And Jonny doesn't give him time to recover. He doesn't even stop to let him adjust, just fucks forward again, and Jonny's _so_ _big_. Maybe Patrick's going to pass out, he's not sure anymore. He's not sure if he's still breathing or if Jonny's fucking the last bit of air out of him, one of Jonny's hand curled into the fabric of the jersey, right above the logo where Patrick's heart is hammering against his ribcage, the other digging into Patrick's hip to hold him steady while he pounds into him. Jonny's breath is loud and heavy, little grunts every time he hits Patrick's prostate, mixing in with Patrick's soft moans.

"Jonny," he chokes out. "Jonny, please can I touch myself?"

Jonny's hips slapping against his ass is an obnoxious sound, his own dick slapping against his belly with every snap of Jonny's hips, getting the jersey messy and sticky.

"No," Jonny says, panting. He's holding Patrick close, he couldn't get away if he tried, and even though he means to rock back on Jonny's cock he barely manages to stay on his knees without falling over. The blindfold only adds to the sensation of being lost in Jonny's arms, the room around him seems to be spinning, it's impossible to tell where the ceiling and where the floor is. The only thing he feels is Jonny's dick sliding into him, and the bundle of nerves in his groin he nudges with every thrust.

"Look at you," Jonny says around a moan, the hand on Patrick's chest pushing him back, forcing his back into a pretty arch, jersey wrinkled where Jonny's holding on. "So fucking pretty, Peeks."

He leans forward and almost pushes Patrick back into the mattress when he presses his forehead to the number between Patrick's shoulder blades. His hand is shaking now but he only presses harder against Patrick's chest, hips speeding up, Patrick's moans turning into weak, desperate whimpers.

"Jonny—" he tries again. "Please, please, let me—"

Jonny pulls out and moves his nose to Patrick's cheek, lips brushing along his ears as he breathes out a husky, "no."

Patrick whimpers, his hole is so empty, aching to be filled again. He turns his head into his biceps, squeezing his eyes shut behind the blindfold until he sees white flashes, and takes a deep inhale, gulping in air as if he had been underwater. His balls are so heavy, dick leaking precome, and he's getting so close to the edge that he thinks he might—but Jonny hasn't told him he could, and he doesn't want—he needs to—

"Please, Jonny."

Jonny kisses the corner of his mouth. "No," he mutters, slamming back into him with a force that makes Patrick cry out. He's going to come untouched, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it if Jonny keeps fucking him like that, hard enough to make him feel it for at least another day. And Jonny's not going to—

"I love this jersey on you so much," Jonny adds, his voice tight. "Peeksy, you have no idea how hot you look."

His hand moves from Patrick's hips to his back, along the name between his shoulder, and to the big number plastered across his back, tracing each number with his finger with surprisingly gentle pressure while he's still slamming into Patrick.

He draws a smooth curve and a long line downwards, followed by another upwards curve while he tugs on the front of the jersey to pull Patrick further down. It changes the angle, forcing his cock deeper and—that's so good. So, so good.

Patrick gasps and Jonny lifts his fingers and presses down further on the left. One small line, then a very long, smooth line down and—it's not an 88. Patrick's foggy brain takes embarrassingly long to realize that there's not such a long line in an 8 and that the other number wasn't—

Jonny slams into him again at the same time as the realization kicks in.

_Oh god._

Jonny didn't just put him into a Hawks jersey. He put Patrick into _his_ jersey, with _his_ name, _his_ number on Patrick's back. And Jonny's hand is holding on to _his_ C on Patrick's chest, right over his heart. He's not just one of Jonny's guys, he is Jonny's. Only Jonny's.

"Peeks," Jonny groans, his hand sliding from the big, white 19 on Patrick's back to his hip, traveling to his cock, and his fingers are wrapped around it now, every snap of his hips forcing Patrick's dick into his fist, and it's too much. Patrick whimpers one last time, and then comes all over Jonny's hand and probably the jersey too— _Jonny's jersey_ —and that's all he can think about, that Jonny made him his, that it's Jonny's name on his back. He comes and comes, shaking and trembling, his scalp prickling, skin tingling. Jonny is fucking him through it, he keeps forcing his cock into Patrick's hole until he comes, too.

"Fuck," Jonny groans, his voice raspy. "You feel so good."

He lets go of Patrick's chest, and Patrick falls forward, too weak to catch himself. His hole is oversensitive, it feels like he might never be able to find a normal pace of breathing, and he's lost in a dark, deep stupor of aftershock. Jonny must disappear at some point because he comes back with a warm washcloth and gently cleans Patrick's hole, his free hand sliding underneath the jersey and along his sweaty back. He might say something— Patrick's not sure—and then he's right next to him and tugs Patrick in, and Patrick melts into his arms like an ice cube under the sun.

"Blindfold?" Jonny mutters roughly, but Patrick shakes his head.

He can't face the world right now. Jonny is draped to his back, one arm firmly around his waist, face tucked into the crook of his neck. It must be the safest place in the world, and it's only Patrick's. No one else ever gets to experience this. Jonny's hand is stroking over his hips, he occasionally kisses the spot right behind Patrick's ear, and his breath is a comforting warmth on Patrick's shoulder. The jersey clings to his chest, but it feels even more significant now—like it's a piece of Jonny that belongs to Patrick in the same way he belongs to Jonny.

"Jonny?" he whispers after a long time, moving his head on Jonny's arm.

"Yeah, Patrick?"

"Can you please take off the blindfold now?"

Jonny kisses his neck and the corner of his mouth and then slides the soft material of his eyes. Still, Patrick keeps his eyes closed, fumbling around for Jonny's arm on his stomach hooking one leg over Jonny's. Behind him, Jonny smiles against his neck.

When he finally blinks one eye open, Jonny laughs.

"Welcome back."

The lights are too bright, Patrick's vision still clouded, needing several minutes to adjust, but once he's not squinting anymore, he could easily fall asleep like this. He might if Jonny keeps touching him like that, soft strokes along his ribcage and stomach, along his thighs and hips and ass.

Patrick sighs, wondering if stretching his arms out is worth moving out of Jonny's arms. "Can I keep wearing the jersey today?"

He earns a chuckle, bright and fond. "Yes."

Patrick rolls over on his stomach, arms folded underneath his head. His hair must be messy, Jonny runs his fingers through it, before sliding them down Patrick's neck. This time, Patrick can feel it so clearly. T-O-E-W-S, spelled out on his back, Jonny's fingers idly tracing along each letter like he's painting a piece of art on Patrick's body, tattooing the words between his shoulder blades by the sheer force of will.

"Took me a while to realize," Patrick says quietly. "That is was yours."

"Mm." Jonny laughs, his lips grazing along Patrick's jawbone. He presses a kiss to it and another to Patrick's temple. "My name looks good on you." His hand is still hovering on the S, his palm resting on Patrick's right shoulder blade, his eyes, without a doubt, focused on his number on Patrick's back. "Sounds good, too."

Patrick's heartbeat returned to a normal pace a while ago, but it takes a sudden jump now, a fuzzy feeling running along his spine. Different than the arousal from earlier, calmer, and more grounding.

"Patrick Toews?" Patrick asks, the words coming out a little rushed. "Or Patrick Kane-Toews?"

"I don't know." Jonny's nose brushes along his neck. "You should think about that."

"Why?" he asks, breath hitching. Like it's not obvious. Like he doesn't know already but—they've never said it out loud.

"Because I am going to marry you."

 _Easy_. The way Jonny says it, makes it sound too easy. No doubt about it. And he's right. If they weren't in the NHL, Jonny would have put more than a jersey on him a long time ago. Patrick doesn't regret where his life has led him—to Chicago and to Jonny—and he would never change a thing, but sometimes he wonders what it would be like if they were just two guys without the weight of a franchise on their shoulders.

"Okay," he says, his throat tight. Jonny has always known what his answer would be, but maybe he needed the confirmation for himself. His lips stretch into a wide smile, he curls the fingers of one hand around Patrick's hip, the other sliding back along the T.

"Okay," Jonny repeats as if it's a promise.

He sounds—smug. Of course.

Patrick fights a smile, but he can feel his cheeks ache so he's failing and fuck it, Jonny knows anyways. He lifts his head high enough to press a kiss to Jonny's wrist before letting his eyes fall shut again, relaxing into the sheets.

"I love you."

Jonny hums, the noise vibrating in his chest, deep and rumbly and so incredibly sexy. "Love you too, Peeks."

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [ tumblr ](https://blackhawksuniverse.tumblr.com/)!


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